The Straighteners Saga
by Suuntavaisto
Summary: Straighteners, Nicky Clark hottest you can get. Fell asleep on them when I was pissed! What happened after that?
1. Chapter 1

**Omg. Story.**

Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with The Mighty Boosh, although I did buy my boyfriend a Mighty Boosh shirt for his birthday. I also down own anything to do with Nicky Clark, so shut up! 

**Summary: "Straighteners, Nicky Clark; hottest you can get, fell asleep on them when I was pissed!" What happened after this? Vince loses his straighteners and has to find them again, somehow!**

Erm yeah, I was suddenly hit with inspiration, so here you go. Yes there will be more chapters. Comments are much appreciated, constructive critism is worshipped, flames are laughed at etc. You know the drill.

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**Chapter One  
In which Vince falls asleep on his straighteners.**

Was everything orange here, or was it just his eyes playing tricks on him? Vince Noir, punk, goth, king of the mods, new wave explorer and maverick extraordinaire stood holding onto the wall next to him, blinking dazedly at the orange glow that bathed his vision. It took a while for his brain to realise that he was actually only standing under a streetlight with an orange bulb in it, and it was at this same moment that he noticed how very pissed he was.

How odd. He didn't have that much to drink did he? Just one or two cocktails, here and there.. Or was it three or four? Actually, he'd lost count after 10, or was it 20? Oh, it doesn't matter, what was he doing under a streetlight anyway? Anyone would think he was trying to be some sort of prosti-

"Vince?"

The whimsical youth's brain decided that now was a good time to remind his eyes that someone was waving a hand in front of them.. Or was that his own hand? No, no.. It was definately someone elses. Where was he again?

"Vince!"

The hand was clicking now, right in his face. Vince raised his own to try and swat it away like an insect, but ended up poking himself in the eye. A chuckle somewhere to the left of him finally persuaded his eyes to focus and there he saw Howard Moon, man of action, tortured poet, jazz lover and colon explorer.

"Stop tha'.." He mumbled, suddenly feeling tired.

"Come on little man, it's time to go home."

How the fuck did Howard do it? Even when he'd sat for hours drinking pint after pint after pint, he could still stand up, act sober and click his fingers like he'd been drinking water all night instead. Sometimes it pissed Vince off, seeing his best friend walking in a straight line when he could only manage a crawl with the wall as support, but usually he was too wasted to care.

What did Howard just say? Oh right, home.

They were lucky enough to live across the road from the only pub in the area that served cocktails as well as lager, so getting home didn't take too long. Yes, it took longer than usual due to Vince's inability to walk in a straight line, and his refusal to walk across the zebra crossing, claiming it was staring at his soul.. But.. Well it wasn't too bad anyway.

Howard checked his watch as they reached the door to the flat, it informed him that it was 2:06 AM. Naboo and Bollo would probably still be awake, watching Star Trek or some other weird show that everybody claimed not to like but had secretly watched a few episodes of anyway. The two never seemed flustered when people walked in on them watching programmes like this. As the Shamen had said himself, there was no Star Trek on Xooberon, this was the only chance he was going to get to watch it. That made sense.. Right?

"Howard?" The quiet voice of his companion pushed itself past his musings.

"Mmm?"

"I don't feel very well."

"Try to wait until you're in the bathroom if you're going to be sick, okay?" Howard opened the door and allowed Vince to enter the flat. It was strange how people could change when under the influence of alcohol. Some people would become merry and laugh a lot, some would go quiet and depressed. Others, namely Vince, would stop being a punk, goth, king of the mods, new wave explorer and maverick extraordinaire and become a normal person, almost. Of course, Vince Noir could never fully be a normal person. That would just be plain weird.

Howard climbed the stairs after his friend, nodding to Naboo and Bollo who, rightly predicted, were engrossed in an episode of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. Honestly why did Naboo have a bed again? He rarely used it, and it was one of the most comfortable beds in the house, made from the finest silks on Xooberon which are apparently a lot finer than the silks made on Earth. The man of action turned his attention to Vince, who was staring in the mirror looking horrified, his nausea apparently forgotten.

"I need my straighteners.." He muttered, running a hand through his hair.

"You're about to go to bed!" Exclaimed Howard, giving his friend a strange look. "You don't need to straighten your hair, you can do it when you wake up!"

Vince shook his head, making his way slowly to his bedroom, "What if a burglar breaks in whilst i'm asleep?" He questioned, "He's rummaging around, can't find what he wants, walks into my bedroom, finds me asleep with my hair a mess, takes a photo and there you have it i'm on the front page of some horrible magazine looking like Old Gregg!"

Howard made a face at the mention of that funky manfish. "Why would a burglar have a camera with him?" He wondered.

"He obviously stole it from someone elses flat." Replied Vince, as he entered his bedroom. Various posters and pictures covered the walls, with doodles and drawings filling the gaps courtesy of the maverick himself. They were mostly of weird animals, a few Charlie pictures could be seen here and there as well. In the corner were a stack of cushions that were very useful for sitting on when applying the days make-up and doing your hair. Vince paused as he picked up his straighteners (Nicky Clark, hottest you can get, of course) from the floor where he'd left them earlier that day. Maybe straightening his hair wasn't the best idea when he was drunk. But then again.. If a burglar does break in and take a photo.. Vince turned the straighteners on quickly.

Settling himself down onto his mountain of cushions, he placed the slowly heating up utensil next to him, unbuttoned his shirt and pulled his boots off. Oh it felt like stepping into a bath filled with the finest moisturisers known to man, his boots were gorgeous but they didn't half hurt his feet sometimes. Vince let his head drop back onto the cushions and shifted slightly as he felt the hot straighteners graze his stomach.

Howards head appeared around the door. He eyed the scene suspiciously, "Don't fall asleep with your straighteners on. You could burn the house down, or yourself."

Vince looked confused. "I could burn myself down?"

"You could burn yourself. Make sure your straighteners are off before you go to sleep." Why did Howard sometimes feel like he was Vince's dad? He might look it, but they were the same age! He gave a pointed look towards the straighteners to emphasize his point and went back into the front room, shutting the door behind him.

And 30 seconds later, Vince was fast asleep. The straighteners pressed against his abdomen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Good evening all. **

New chapter- helped very much by my boyfriend, and also Marc who told us how many pounds Vince would probably weigh, hehe. Sorry Noel if you weigh less than that and you happen to read this. Whoops! This chapter is shorter than the last, but meh. Hoping this isn't a reaccuring theme of course. It probably won't be.

**Enough of me blathering, enjoy x. **

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**Chapter Two  
In which Vince loses his straighteners**

The morning sun shone through the window as Howard Moon struggled to awake from his dream. I say dream, it was more of a nightmare. His arms were being held back by hairy banana hands as he desperately tried to type a message to his friend Mark Fisher on MSN messenger. It was a strange dream, but reaccuring ones usually were. The weirdest thing about it was that he could never remember the message he needed to send, maybe it was a sign or something.

He shrugged this thought off and wandered into the front room, without bothering to change his clothes. Naboo was still firmly planted on the sofa, where Howard had seen him the night before, staring placidly at the screen.

"Do you just not sleep anymore?" Asked the man of action as he strode over to the kitchen area and poured himself some coffee.

"It's Big Brother Live," Replied Naboo, stretching slightly and straightening his turban. "It's on all night."

"But isn't it just shots of people sleeping?" Howard never could understand the Shamens taste in television. "..Where's Bollo?" He added as an afterthought. As if on cue, the ape appeared on the stairs carrying a pint of milk. He'd apparently been up all night watching television as well.

"Milkman is screwing us over." He stated in his gruff voice, "We pay for two pints and he only give us one."

Naboo twisted round in his seat and shook his head. "Nah, that's not the milkman, it's the milk stealing cheetah's that have moved in down the road. I'll have a word with them later." Bollo nodded as the Shamen turned back to Howard. "Where's Vince?"

The man in question was currently in the same position he'd fallen asleep in, except now sporting a rather painful (but stylish) looking red mark across his stomach, small columns of steam arose from the same area. If Vince had been sober, this would've been incredibly painful, however due to the practically normal, drunken state he had fallen asleep in, he barely felt a thing.

That is, until he began to awaken.

As the horizon of reality began to smother his subconscious, the pain grew stronger and stronger. It felt like a thousand badgers were attempting to tunnel out of his stomach using a series of hot pokers and lightning bolts.

"What the..? Ow! Ow!" He yelped as he shifted and the sensation turned from a sharp sting into a searing hot pain. Fumbling down at his side where the hurting was the greatest, his hand brushed against the heated marble of his straighteners, still burning from the night before. He unplugged them roughly and glared in a somewhat hungover fashion.

"You Jack O'clubs!" He snapped, before opening his window and launching the utensil into the street below. Almost immediately, his face dropped. What had he done?

Back in the front room, Howard settled himself comfortably on the sofa and sipped his coffee. This was just what he needed the morning after a night out. He sighed contentedly into his mug, smiling as the coffee stupor overtook him. It was a nice feeling that disappeared immediately as a loud scream pierced the air. Jumping to his feet, he swopped an alarmed glance with Naboo before being hit with a 140 pound ball of distress, more commonly refered to as Vince.

"ILOfdSTMdkYjeSTRxgAIGeiHTEdkNERSdjILrjkuhjrOSTMrjYSrhTRAghIdgGfjHrhTrhENrjErjRS!"

Howard blinked. "What?"

Vince took a deep breath, "Just read the capital letters, Howard, they'll tell you what you need to know."

There was silence for a moment as the jazz lover thought this over. Eventually his eyes widened and he turned to his friend. "You what? How did that happen? They're probably where you left them last night." He placed his coffee down on the table, "Come on, i'll help you find them."

"No, no you don't understand!" Cried Vince, putting an arm out to stop Howard. "I left them burning my stomach last night, they're not there now because I threw them out of the window in a spontaneous hungover rage this morning!"

The man of action shrugged, looking nonplussed. "Well, then we can just go to the street and get them. no need to worry about these things Vince, you've got Howard Moon, man about town on the case."

"Well.." Vince looked sheepish. "It's not that simple, I think they landed on the roof of a black car as it was driving by."

Howard's face fell, he raised his hands and rubbed his temples, muttering something under his breath. "Nothing's ever simple with you, is it Vince?" There was a moment of awkward silence, before Howard continued. "Alright, well there arn't too many black cars in London, it shouldn't be that hard to track it down.. What did it look like?"

"It's hard to describe.." Vince looked thoughtful, wincing as his stomach twinged, reminding him of the burn. "It was black, big.. It had an orange light on the top of it and-"

"It was a taxi wasn't it."

Vince let out a short laugh of realisation. "Actually yeah, I think it was."


	3. Chapter 3

**Another short one, damnit! Things will start happening soon - I promise! **

**Thank you so much to everyone who's given me comments, I really appreciate them ). They make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. x**

Enjoy

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**Chapter Three  
In which Naboo offers what little help he can**

Vince sat on the sofa watching as Howard paced back and forth. He'd been on the phone for just over 15 minutes now, trying to get the address of the taxi company so they could go down and see if the straighteners had been found. It would've been far easier to just ask, but the person on the other end of the phone was very difficult to get a proper answer out of and Howard was beginning to get frustrated.

Naboo had finally turned off the television and gone to his bedroom, partly because he wanted to do some ironing, but mostly because he wanted to get out of the way of all the pacing that was going on. Howard turned and ran a hand through his hair.

"Yes." He muttered into the phone, "No. Right? Well if you just give me the ad-.. What? Oh okay.. No it's just- Pardon? Oh.. Could I have the address please? What? The address... The street that your company is on. Right, thanks." He put the phone down with a defeated look on his face.

"Did you get it?" Asked Vince, running a hand through his hair self-consciously. "I can read you like a book Howard, it's good news, right? You got the address!"

There was a moment of silence as the man of action pondered his friends irrepressable optimism, or was it just ignorance? Howard wasn't sure, but sometimes he envied his friends' laid-back attitude towards life. "Well.. If there's a street in London called 'Piss Off Road' then yes, I got the address."

Vince made a face and stood up. "What am I gonna do? I can't live without my straighteners.."

"Don't worry, we'll think of something.. Go ask Naboo if he can help."

Vince entered the Shamans room to a familiar scene, the ironing board was set up in the middle and Naboo was stood at it, taking the creases out of his shirt. His bed was perfectly made since it hadn't been slept in for goodness knows how long. He looked up at the sound of his door opening.

"Any luck with the straighteners?"

"Er, actually I was wondering if you could give us a bit of help there.. You know, do some of your Shaman magic to point us in the right direction." Vince looked hopeful as Naboo put his shirt back on and folded the ironing board up.

The shaman walked mysteriously over to his bookcase, and selected a heavy book. "There might be something I could do.. I can't bring them back, but I might be able to find out where they are." He placed the book down on the bed, revealing the title.

Vince looked scornful. "A Shaman's guide to hair care?"

"What? ..You don't think we get abnormally straight hair naturally do you?" Naboo smiled a little and began leafing through the book slowly. There were articles on a range of things, from 'how not to get turban hair' to 'what to do if some magic dust falls on your hairbrush and brings it to life'.

Finally Naboo stopped on a page that was titled; 'spells to locate your missing utensils'. He read through it silently for a moment and frowned. ".. Wait a minute.." He looked up at Vince, "They're not Nicky Clark are they?"

Vince grinned, "Yeah, hottest you can get!"

The shaman shut the book with a snap and shot his friend an apologetic look. "Sorry, there's nothing I can do." He replaced the book back into the bookcase and sat down on the edge of his bed, watching Vince's reaction.

"Why not?" Demanded the youth, after a moments silence. This was not happening to him.. It couldn't. Things like this just didn't happen! He had to get his straighteners back soon or he was going to go insane. Who knew what he'd up looking like without the careful treatment he gave his hair every morning. He might even end up with.. Oh, Vince didn't want to think about it. He turned his attention back to Naboo, who was looking at him strangely.

"Nicky Clark straighteners are the hottest you can get.." Began the Shaman, slowly "In fact, they're so hot that they're impervious to Shaman magic. It just bounces off them!"

"So there's nothing you can do?"

Naboo paused, "Actually.." He stood up and walked over to a chest of drawers, on top of which was a small yellow box. He opened the lid and pulled out a small card. "Here, I was going to use this to get rid of some stuff in the attic, but you can use it to see if anyone's found your straighteners." He handed over the card and Vince discovered it was a coupon to place an advertisement in the local newspaper.

Back in the front room, Howard had just settled back down with his coffee when Vince walked back in and stood at the top of the stairs, looking over at his friend impatiently. The man about town sighed and put his coffee down. "Alright. What are we doing now?" He asked, standing up and fetching his coat.

Vince grinned, "We have to go put an ad in the paper for my straighteners.. To the post office!"


	4. Chapter 4

**I don't mean it Sir Bob! My boyfriend made me write that, honest!**

Also, apologies to any readers who work at the Post Office. O.o.

Hope you enjoy this chapter, sorry for the lapse in updates! Been too busy Red Hot Chili Peppering at Derby Stadium ). Oh yeah! Enjoy all x.

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The morning was grey and drizzly as the two friends stepped out of their flat. Both were slightly surprised that they'd managed to not only wake up, but get up at this time after a late night booze fest. Vince pulled his coat tighter around himself and ruffled his hair worriedly, the root booster he had applied before leaving gave his hair some volume, but it was barely adequate. He could feel the difference and he was pretty sure it was obvious when looking at it as well.

"We've gotta find those straighteners soon," He mumbled, glancing over at Howard. "I'm becoming more of a Bob Geldof than a Mick Jagger with every passing second!"

"Oh come on Vince," Snorted his friend, "Don't exaggerate.. You'll have to go years for it to look that bad!"

A small noise from behind them caused the two men to look round. A short man in a Boomtown Rats t-shirt sobbed loudly, before running off in the opposite direction. Vince and Howard swapped a glance before shouting apologies to the retreating form of Sir Bob Geldof.

"Er.. Anyway. Have you decided what you want to put in this ad?" Asked Howard as they continued walking.

"Well. I was thinking something like: 'HELP! Shadow tinted black straighteners customised glass, lost. Nicky Clark, hottest you can get! Last seen on the roof of a taxi. reward 10 billion yen!'" Vince grinned, seemingly proud of his outlandish suggestion.

Howard stared for a moment. "Why is the reward in yen? And where are we going to get 10 billion of anything? .. I was thinking of something more along the lines of: 'Lost straighteners, If found return to-'"

"That's rubbish!"

"Well it's not as rediculous as yours.." Howard sighed, "Look, we can decide when we get there.. Where are we anyway?"

Vince pouted and folded his arms, looking around. "The Post Office is just around this next corner."

The weather had turned even nastier as the two men rounded the corner. Rain lashed down onto them as Vince hastily opened up an umbrella he seemed to have pulled from nowhere. Howard noted his friends good thinking, and pulled out his own umbrella which dropped a chunk of mud onto his head as he opened it, before turning inside out and blowing out of his hands. He gritted his teeth, thankful that the Post Office was just ahead of them.

Suddenly he was stopped in his tracks as he noticed the building the had walked up to.

"Vince!" He snapped, turning to his friend whose eyes had lit up at the sight in front of them. "That's not the Post Office!"

"What?"

"That's not the Post Office! That's not even the Vatican! That's a cake shop!"

Vince shot Howard a strange look before stepping up to the window and staring in delight at all the sugary treats that were on display. "Well obviously, bumberclark, the Vatican isn't in London!"

"That's not the point!" Howards voice was getting higher with every syllable. His hair was plastered to the top of his head as the rain came down even faster. "The point is we were supposed to be going to the Post Office!"

"Oh.. I thought you said we were going to buy some gateau's.."

Howard could feel a headache forming as he surveyed his friend with a look of pure disbelief. "Okay.. One. How does 'let's go to the Post Office' sound in any way like 'let's go buy some gateau's'? And.. Two. It was your idea!"

Vince had already purchased a small creamy eclair by the time his friend had finished talking. He grinned and took some frosting off of the top with his finger. "Oh yeah!" He laughed, "Well, the Post Office is just around the corner from out flat.. That's where the odd musty old persons smell comes from! Come on then.. To the post office!"

The Post Office doors were rusty and splattered with a substance that looked suspiciously like blood. Every five minutes another pensioner would walk out through the doors. Vince swallowed and took a step back. "Howard, I can't go in there! I'm too good looking, even with my hair growing a mind of it's own.. I'll stand out like a sore thumb! Besides, everyone who works there is like a Jerry Springer reject!"

No amount of convincing could persuade Vince to enter to small building. He folded his arms and leaned on the wall as Howard entered alone. Luckily because it was mid morning the queue was fairly small and he noticed after a few moments of joining that the woman in front of him looked exactly like Nanatoo. He tried to avoid looking directly at her.

After about 15 minutes, Howard finally reached the counter. A large man, with grey hair was serving him who, if this was the actual programme of The Mighty Boosh, would be played by Rich Fulcher. Coughing deeply, the man snatched the coupon out of Howard's outstretched hand and eyed it suspiciously. "Alright.." He mumbled, "What do you want to advertise? Nuts? Small dogs? Bacon? Women on their sides?"

The man of action was silent for a moment. He shook his head. "..No.. Actually, i'd like to place an ad for some lost-"

"Grandparents?"

"No! Straighteners! Lost straighteners, you prat!"

It was now that Howard really looked at the man he was speaking to. His head looked almost triangular on one side and the other was perfectly round. He also had a tiny nose, that wrinkled every time he spoke. "Vince was right!" Thought Howard, alarmed. "The people who work here are weird!"

"What?" Said the strangely shaped postal worker, as the man about town realised he'd actually spoken out loud. "You're no prize pick yourself! We should offer you the position of HEAD postal worker!"

At the word head, Howards eyes travelled back to the strange shape he was faced with. The worker seemed to notice and glared, sorting out the ad in stony silence. "There." He snapped finally. "It'll be in tomorrow's paper... Say hey to that hot woman outside for me!"

Howard looked round and noticed Vince fiddling with his hair, distractedly. He glanced back at the worker who seemed to be carressing his chest in a strange manner, before walking out.

"It'll be in tomorrow's paper." He mumbled as Vince looked up.


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry this took so long, my muse is away and this is hard without him!**

Enjoy anyway.

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**Chapter Five  
In which the author has writer's block and so not much happens**

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. As soon as the flat door had been closed behind them, Vince had sat down firmly in front of the full-length mirror and attempted to straighten his hair by any means necessary. However, after four straight hours he let out a frustrated sigh and threw his hands in the air.

"This is useless! How am I supposed to wait until tomorrow before I can get my straighteners back?" He cried, pouting as Howard chuckled slightly. The jazz extraordinaire was finally enjoying his cup of coffee and reading an article in the newspaper.

"Just 'cause notice in paper. Don't mean gonna get answer tomorrow." Stated Bollo. Vince shot him a venomous look, indicating that he was already well aware of this fact and was trying to be optimistic.

"Er.. I like your jacket." Added Bollo, after a moment, in an attempt to reconcile.

Vince continued to glare at the ape, then a smile broke out onto his face as he tugged his collar slightly. "Yeah, it's nice isn't it!" And so it was. The rest of the day passed similarily and before anybody could blink it was the next morning. Simply due to the lack of things for the author to type about.

The sun gave a salute to the bad weather of the previous day as it rose over the horizon, carefully avoiding the moon as the last time she had passed him she had left with a wet back and wasn't sure why. In normal English weather fashion, it was a beautiful morning that Howard and Vince woke up to, compared to the drizzle of the day before.

"Naboo!" Cried Vince, as he stumbled into the front room, half dressed. The Shaman was dozing on the sofa and jerked awake, looking alarmed, as his friend rushed to him. Vince was shirtless, the burn from his straighteners standing out harshly against his pale flesh and his trousers so tight it looked like he'd been sewn into them. "Naboo!" He repeated, jumping onto the sofa towards the startled Shaman.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Asked Naboo worriedly, watching as Vince's face scrunched into a confused look.

"Nothing! .. Has the paper come yet?"

Vince's hair was ruffled, and already had Rootbooster applied to it. The very tips were beginning to curl outwards in a rebellious non-straightened sort of way and the young man fiddled nervously with them, sensing the bad hair disaster day of doom that would engulf him if he didn't get his straighteners back. Naboo regarded him with a look of sympathy, apparently understanding what his thoughts were by the look on his face.

"I don't know." Said the Shaman, putting on his turban and standing up. "I'll go have a look if you want." And so he did. Descending the stairs with the slow, mysterious air that all Shamen seem to possess. Even Tony Harrison.

No, Really.

As it were, the paper had arrived. Vince pounced on it eagerly and rifled through the pages, looking for the advertisement that would bring back his precious straighteners. He didn't notice Howard entering the room, dressed in his khaki shorts and a blue top that Vince always advised him not to wear.

"Vince.. Don't you have any other straighteners?" He asked, pouring himself his usual morning coffee. "And.. Besides why don't you just go out and buy some new straighteners. instead of this mad hunt for your old pair?"

The young man looked up with a look of such disgust that Howard felt himself blushing. "You're having a laugh arn't you?" He asked, glancing back down at the paper. "First of all, yes I do have other straighteners, but they're all broken.. And secondly these were Nicky Clark straighteners! And i'd customised them.." He trailed off, pausing at the advertisements page in the paper.

Howard sipped his coffee and discovered that it was far too hot for his tastebuds to handle. He put down his mug and poured a glass of cold water, sticking out his tongue to cool it slightly. When he turned, Vince was standing right behind him with an expression of annoyance plastered onto his face.

"What the heck is this?" He asked, gesticulating to the paper, and the small advertisement that simply said Lost straighteners of Nicky Clark design. If found please return to... Howard looked confused.

"That's your advert!"

Vince's mouth opened slowly in a look of horror, as he surveyed his friend. If he didn't trust Howard with everything but fashion he might've thought that he was trying to stop Vince from getting his straighteners back. "But that's rubbish! That's not going to get anyone's atten-"

The phone began to ring.

Howard moved to pick it up, but Vince quickly dodged past him and grabbed the receiver before it had a chance to reach the third ring. "Hello?" He asked, breathlessly into the mouthpiece, turning away from Howard's questioning stare. He wondered briefly where Naboo had disappeared to before his attention was captured by a thick, strange voice that answered him.

"I got your straighteners."


	6. Chapter 6

**Argh. Sorry guys, this has taken far too long to get up. Writer's block is a bitch! I hope it's worth the wait but i'm not too happy with this chapter. Thanks to everyone who's being reviewing, I love you all.**

Much love to Corrine for her encouragement.

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**Chapter Six  
In which it becomes extremely apparent who was on the phone**

The phone conversation went on for a few more moments, with Howard attempting to listen in before being swatted away like an overly eager insect. Vince walked over to the small pad of paper hanging on the wall and scribbled a few things down on it, his eyes shining brightly with the prospect of retrieving his beloved straighteners.

"I don't believe it." Muttered Howard, eyeing what was written down as Vince ended the phone call, dropping the receiver into it's holster with the usual flare the small man possessed, even with his hair curling outwards in a scary Geldof sort of way.

"I know!" Exclaimed Vince, "Who would've guessed that there really is a 'Piss Off Road' in London!" He continued chuckling under his breath as he pulled out a rather large and extravegant purple pirate hat, before placing it delicately onto his rebellious hair. He also donned a long flowing purple robe, a brown leather belt and some tight blue jeans.

Howard regarded him with a look of pure disbelief. "WHAT are you wearing?"

"What? .. Well, look.." Howard could tell this was going to be one of those explanations that only made sense to Vince. "I figured that i'm not going to have control over my hair today right? Even with Rootbooster.. So I thought, what look goes well with rugged locks? And then it hit me! Pirates!"

"Rugged locks?" The man of action laughed, extremely correct in his assessment of the explanation. "Your hair is hardly rugged, even without your precious straighteners... It's more like silk wrapped in satin being wafted in a light breeze!" He shook his head, still smiling in the slightly nervous way that only Howard Moon can smile.

Vince's retort was cut off as Naboo entered, followed closely by Bollo. "What's going on?" Asked the Shaman as he settled himself down onto the sofa, his familiar following suit. A piece of paper was thrust in front of his nose with an address on it. "Hey!" He cried, grasping the sheet, a rare smile wandering onto his face. "Piss Off Road! My mate Barry lives there!"

He continued grinning in his lop-sided manner before noticing the blank stares he was receiving from his human friends. "Barry is from Wales, but he moved to London to be closer to Comet." More blank looks. "He likes electrical goods." Added Naboo, hastily changing the subject. "When are you going there then?"

"Hard to say," Replied Howard, taking charge of the situation. "We don't actually know where Piss Off Road is!"

"Naboo knows!" Cried Vince, wondering why the author almost wrote Noel instead, "I mean, your mate lives there right? You know where it is!" He gave Naboo the look that young fluffy puppies give to people when they really really want something and the only way to get it is to look astoundingly cute and melt their hearts. This didn't melt the shamans heart, but he let out a sigh anyway.

"Alright... I'll take you there. Bollo, go get the carpet!"

Howard frowned, "The carpet? Why not just take a cab?"

"S'rush hour." Came the reply.

Half an hour later the three men and gorilla were comfortably seated on Naboo's patterned carpet. It would take them at least 20 minutes to reach the housing estate where Piss Off Road was situated. (Which Howard secretly thought was a rather appropriate location.) Naboo and Bollo took the front of the carpet, steering it with apparent ease whilst Howard and Vince sat at the back, talking.

"So who was this character?" Asked Howard, enjoying the sensation of flying, even though he felt slightly nauseous whenever he looked down. Vince shrugged and ruffled his hair self-consciously. He knew he shouldn't be so worked up about losing a pair of straighteners. He could always buy new ones and customize them instead, but he didn't want to. He wanted his old ones back. Everyone had their little perks, Howard had paranoia, Naboo had his magic and Bollo was a gorilla. What Vince had was style, and he was damn well not letting that go down the drain!

He noticed Howard waiting for a vocal response. "No idea.. He didn't give me his name, just the address.. Actually, I just remembered! He mentioned you!"

"Me?" Howard was confused.

"Yeah! In this creepy shrill voice he was all like; "Is Howard your friend?" And I said "Yeah!" Remember when I said yeah? Anyway, then he was like: "Bring that motherlicker with you!" Vince began to laugh as he settled himself down onto the carpet. Thus failing to notice Howard turning several shades of white.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello, my lovelies. Another bit of the story for you. I'm actually having to think about how the hell i'm going to end this! Scary stuff. I don't think the end will be for a while though, i'm not even going to estimate how many chapters because i'm really not good at that sort of thing. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy.**

* * *

**Chapter Seven  
In which something very shocking happens**

"We're almost there." Piped up the tiny figure on the front of the carpet. The effects of staying awake for weeks on end watching bad reality television and teleshopping were finally beginning to take their toll on Naboo, and he could feel his eyes growing heavier and heavier as the journey went on. He failed to notice the mist creeping up around them, the tendrils rising with the breeze as the air began to thicken.

"I got a-"

"Mist? Great. Just what I need." Vince cut Bollo's gravelly voice off as he fiddled absently with a strand of hair. He huffed and looked down at the houses they were flying over, the vivid orange roofs reminding him of just how drunk he was the night before. The mist was beginning to smother everything, turning the roofs into dull grey outlines passing below them. Vince shivered.

"I got a ba-"

Bollo jolted to a halt, along with the carpet as Naboo looked around worriedly. The mist had turned into a fog that covered everything like a big grey blanket. "I can't see where i'm going." He mumbled, looking around at the vast whiteness, he could only just see his companions on the carpet. It was usually at this point that Vince and Howard would break into a song about fog, which would include some strange metaphorical references to mist and a funky bassline. However Vince was too busy with his hair and Howard was sitting straight up, with his eyes wide.

Naboo straightened his turban, like he always did when he was nervous. "We'd better go down,"

Bollo grunted, "..I got a bad feeling about this."

As the carpet began to drop, the familiar noticed a strange smell lingering around like an unwanted piece of cheese. It grew stronger the closer they got to the ground and presently Vince and Naboo noticed it as well. The shaman sniffed, frowning slightly. He knew that smell, he just couldn't place where he'd smelt it before.

"NO!"

Everyone jumped as Howard jolted seemingly out of a dream. He looked frantic as he looked around and saw they were descending. "No!" He cried again, shifting forwards towards Naboo, "What are you doing?! Up! Up!" Bollo grunted and Howard backed away slightly, still looking flustered.

"You've gone wrong." Stated Vince, looking confused at his friend's sudden outburst.

"I've gone.. I'VE gone wrong?! You're the one that's gone fucking wrong!" Howard ran a hand through his hair, ignoring the look of surprise being passed around. "Why the hell did you drag me out here? Don't you realise who was on the phone?! Can't you tell?!"

Vince shook his head slowly, his mouth agape.

"I'm not having anything to do with this. No, absolutely not." Howard continued his inane babbling as the carpet finally came to rest on the ground. The fog was thinner there, but the smell was almost overpowering.

"Sacred herb!" Exclaimed Naboo suddenly.

The guys looked at him for an explanation, wondering whether this was just one of those exclamatory sentences people sometimes come out with like; "Holy crap!" or "Holy chickencoop Batman!" But the shaman simply sniffed the air and nodded to himself.

"This fog.. It's not fog at all! It's smoke! From Sacred Herb! I used to smoke it all the time! It gives you a nice buzz.."

"Naboo!" A shout rang out. The rhyming tigers ran from their holes in the mantlepieces of the housing estate and devoured the last sentence with relish.

The person that appeared shortly after the shout was a tall shaman. a mass of orange hair was held under his turban, whilst thick glasses hung precariously on the edge of his nose. He was introduced as Barry, and as this happened a small noise erupted from his parka. He brought out a tiny mole and did some strange shaman thing that only seemed to make sense to Naboo, who was staring at the small creature with an open mouth.

"You got another upgrade?" He asked, glancing backwards at Bollo.

"Oh yeah! This is Tara! Brand new compact model! Gets all the latest, goes further afield than Chrissy ever did! Got sensors you see! .. By the way, do you want some Sacred Herb?" All this was said very slowly, his welsh accent being emphasized on every turn. Naboo took the small mole and looked it over, smiling as he wished in his heart that he could get an upgrade that wouldn't forget his bank card but knowing deep down that he could never change Bollo to anything else.

"Naboo!"

The shaman hadn't realised Vince had wandered off. The Camden Leisure pirate now stood outside an eerily painted lime green door. "Come on!" He shouted, beckoning them over. "This is the place!"

Naboo and Bollo bode farewell to Barry, who had produced a shopping trolley from somewhere and had begun wheeling it around. The front garden of the house was covered in water, and it was only when the two got closer that they realised it was just a giant pond with a path over the top of it. Due to their constant exposure to weird and wonderful things, neither saw this as odd. Howard was still sat on the carpet, shaking his head.

"Come on, Howard!" Yelled Vince.

"I'm not going in there!"

Vince rolled his eyes and stuck his hands on his hips, he looked like a gay cabin boy. "Will you just come on?!" He turned and knocked on the door loudly, the sound echoing around the streets.

"I told you, i'm not having anything to do with this!"

Howard turned to shoot Vince one of his infamous "that's final" looks, but it froze before it had even reached his face. Behind the two people and gorilla standing on the path, the water was distorting. Something was emerging from it. Something green, with seaweed for hair and thick make-up covering their face climbed onto the path and tilted its head at the visitors. "Oh God.." Gasped Howard, he had to warn them before it was too late. "LOOK OUT!"

His shout caused the three to turn around, but they were already trapped between the door and the bulky figure that lurched foward and cried; "I'm Old Gregg!"

**Dun Dun Duuunnnnnnnn!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Gosh, I suck at writing tension. Sorry about that! Unfortunately there are a couple more chapters of it to come so I also apologise in advance. Old Gregg is a fucking difficult character to write! He's obviously an evil fishy bastard who kills anybody who looks at him the wrong way, but i'm not sure if that came across in this chapter. Oh well, I guess i've got more to improve my characterisations. **

**Oh yeah, I also wanted to thank everyone who's been reviewing, ILY.**

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**Chapter Eight  
In which the atmosphere takes a turn for the worst**

Vince awoke to a steady dripping noise. His back ached from lying on an uneven surface for goodness knows how long and the burn spread across his stomach was beginning to itch. He wasn't sure how long he'd been out, there was a bare minimum of light being let into the dank cavern he seemed to be in, so he couldn't even tell what time of day it was. The last thing he remembered was Old Gregg, lurching forwards with his arms outstretched.

Vince winced, gingerly stretching his legs and arms to make sure everything worked properly. He could vaguely feel someone (or something) lying next to him, completely still. His internal voice had stopped telling him how great he looked and was now screaming at him to sit up in case it was Old Gregg. Vince bit back a hiss at the twinging from the burn, as he shifted his arms and pushed himself into a sitting position.

There were shadows everywhere.

After slowly stretching his legs, and trying to get his eyes to adjust to the low light. He cautiously leant over to peer at the figure slumped onto the ground next to him. Vince had assumed, since he wasn't attacked as soon as he had sat up, that Old Gregg wasn't around. The darkness and shadows were reminding him strongly of various horror films he'd watched in the middle of the night with Howard. Vince's heart thumped loudly in his chest as he rolled the figure towards him. A flash of blue caught his eye.

"Naboo!" He gasped, instinctively feeling for the tiny shaman's pulse. His fingers shook as he searched for the right place on Naboo's neck, wishing all of a sudden that he'd paid attention in the first aid course all the zookeepers were forced to take. Of course, all of that was years ago, Vince doubted very much he'd remember any of it even if he hadn't let Howard do it all for him, he'd come to terms with his short attention span. The electro poof let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding as he felt the steady rhythm below his fingers. Naboo was alive but, no matter how loud Vince called his name, didn't stir from his unconcious state.

Bollo was on the other side of what Vince could only assume was some sort of cage, his large, furry chest rose and fell with every breath that he took, but he wasn't awake either. It was then that Vince noticed how cold it was. His hat was missing and he'd taken his robe off to make Naboo a makeshift pillow. so he was left with a thin purple shirt, which was caked in dirt and his tight blue jeans, now almost ripped to shreds. He cringed as he looked down at the sorry state he was in.

Movement from the corner of his eye caused the king of the mods to look up. A shadow shifted in the corner of the cave. Vince's breath caught in his throat as a figure detatched itself from the darkness and moved erratically over to the cage. "You're awake!" It said, in a high-pitched voice, moving right up to the bars and leering at Vince. "You thirsty? I-I can get you some Baileys?" Gregg gestured behind him, and the youth noticed a table full of Baileys bottles.

Vince tried to keep his voice steady as he backed away from the scaly figure. "I don't like Baileys."

Old Gregg tilted his head and shifted around to the bolted door of the cage. "Old Gregg likes Baileys!" He giggled softly, running his webbed fingers across the pink fabric of his skirt.

A loud, clanking sound echoed around the cave as the door was unbolted. Vince scrambled backwards, almost tripping over Naboo as he realised what was happening. He wasn't about to beg for his life, like Howard seemed to do on a daily basis, but to be quite honest Old Gregg disgusted the hell out of him and the thought of being touched by the fishy bastard was repulsive.

"Leave me alone!" He stammered, his voice going higher as it did whenever he was freaked out by something. Old Gregg paused, with the cage door half open, his green scaly skin being slightly illuminated in the low light. He gazed creepily at the young maverick, who was pressing himself into the bars as far away from Gregg as possible.

"I want to talk." Old Gregg opened the door wide, "We can talk and drink some Baileys and it'll be fun! I'm Old Gregg!" The funky manfish seemed to get slightly excited as he said his own name, beckoning Vince forwards with his webbed hand.

"I don't like Baileys!" Cried the youth again, cringing as Gregg moved into the cage and grasped Vince's hand. To say he was scared would be an understatement, as would completely shitting his pants off. There was no time for him to grab hold of something to try and stall this 'conversation' Gregg wanted to have with him, and the scaly manfish's grip was so tight that the only thing which came out of Vince's attempts to get away was a sore wrist.

If Naboo or Bollo had been awake, they would've heard the loud, piercing screams that echoed around the cavern as Vince was dragged away.


	9. Chapter 9

**This took ages to write. This chapter is for Jimmy my gerbil, who passed away yesterday. Very supportive even though he hadn't a clue what I was doing. **

**Thanks for all the lovely feedback everyone. You make me feel like a good writer.**

* * *

**Chapter Nine  
In which people with weak hearts should look away **

Vince gagged, wincing softly. His screaming has ceased as soon as he had been pulled through a doorway a couple of metres away from where the table of Baileys stood in the centre of the previous cave. He could see the cage behind it, the figures of Naboo and Bollo still slumped onto the floor. The new room they were in had different coloured walls, they seemed unusual in a way that the king of the mods couldn't work out, what with the low light.

Old Gregg released Vince's hands, which immediately shot up to cover his nose and mouth. There was an unbearable smell blanketing the entire cavern like a thick fog. It smelt worse than the time Naboo had gone out buying hammocks in Saudi Arabia and left Vince and Howard to cook their own dinner. It smelt worse than the time they'd visited the French cheese shop that had a special on Parmesan. It smelt like death.

Vince gagged again, realising that he was holding his breath in an attempt to keep the disgusting smell out of his body. "What is that?" He choked, blinking tears out of his eyes. "It.. Oh God." He leant his hands on his thighs, dropping his chin onto his chest, feeling the bile rising in his throat.

"This is my tribute to Howard." Stated Old Gregg, thickly. "This is where I put my tribute to Howard so I can show him what I made for him."

"You made a smell?!" Panted Vince, heaving every once and a while. The youth would've been emptying his stomach at that very moment if he hadn't skipped breakfast. Instead he was forced to settle with several dry, painful convulsions that made his throat sore and his head hurt.

Old Gregg's face darkened. "I made a tribute!" He hopped slightly further into the cave and gestured to the room around him. "I made a collage to show him that I love him." He leered at Vince, beckoning him to enter the cavern. "Come and see, I want to show you and then you can tell me what you're thinking of it."

Vince hesitated, swalling bile as he slowly took another step into the cave. Gregg grinned and gestured around with a webbed hand again. The youth stared into the darkness, his eyes adjusting slowly. His heart leapt into his throat as he realised there were glassy eyes staring at him from the walls. There were men attached somehow to the wall, their bodies forming a crude collage that culminated in what could only be described as a horrific mosaic of Howard Moons face.

"You're a freak!" Stammered Vince, staring at the walls with a sick fascination. The men were all wearing white uniforms, except one who was wearing a brown jacket and jeans. He seemed to be representing Howards moustache. Vince felt the most sorry for him.

"They're all ice cream men" Giggled Old Gregg, moving to Vinces side. "Don't you think Howard would make a good ice cream man? I only chose the best ones. The ones that looked like my fuzzy little man peach! Apart from that one." He tilted his head towards the moustache man. "He's a taxi driver. Stole his taxi and.. And I was driving through London and I found your straightening devices! Fate led me to Howard! I'm Old Gregg!"

"You're weird!" Cried Vince. "Howard isn't going to like this! It'll bring him out in a rash!" He shook his head, walking towards the entrance to the cavern he had woken up in, breathing deeply to keep his voice steady. "Listen, Gregg.. I'll make you a deal. Give me my straighteners back and let all of us go and i'll give you some tips on how to get Howard to like you."

Old Gregg narrowed his eyes. "Howard already likes me."

Vince stared through the opening towards the cage. "I don't think he does, actually." He was beginning to get slightly annoyed with the fishy bastard. It smelt disgusting where he was, his clothes were filthy and he still hadn't gotten his straighteners back! "Look, can I just have my straighteners, please?"

There was a pause.

"I want Howard."

Vince rubbed his temples. "Howard's not here. He wouldn't come with us!"

"Get me Howard!"

"Or else what?!"

Old Gregg side stepped slightly, towards what looked like a lever coming out of the rock. He tilted his head, shaking seaweed out of his eyes and smiled. "You won't get your straighteners back and your friends will have to stay down here with me, motherlicker!" As soon as the lever was pulled, a clanking noise filled the entire cave. Vince noticed the cage containing Naboo and Bollo was rising, the floor opening up beneath it.

"You won't get away with this! As soon as Naboo wakes up he'll do so much shaman magic that... What the hell is that?" Vince froze, noticing the thick liquid that had filled the hole, which had appeared beneath the cage. It looked like Baileys, but with a pungent smell that was almost as bad as the bodies.

"That's what will keep them down here! One dip into my creamy mix up milk will turn them into scaly manfishes just like Old Gregg!" The funky manfish played with the hem of his skirt and smiled up at Vince. "You find Howard for Old Gregg, or your friends are going to have to bathe in mix up milk! I'm Old Gregg!"


	10. Chapter 10

**I have returned, with a new chapter that was conveniently finished before the new series of HOUSE started. Yes, that's right. Sorry to make you wait, but they do say absence makes the heart grow fonder.**

**Thanks to Corrine and Hannah who helped me although they didn't tell me how much Bollo weighed, so you can't blame them (specifically Hannah) if it's wrong, ok.**

* * *

**Chapter Ten  
In which Chinko is to blame**

Vince stared horrified at the giggling form of Old Gregg. Partly because this chapter had taken so long to be written, but mostly due to the diabolical plan that had just been explained to him. He glanced at the cage, utterly disgusted and for the first time in his life, completely speechless.

".. You can't do this." He mumbled weakly, realising that Gregg was serious.

A grunt from the corner of the cavern startled them both, and they turned to face the cage where a very drowsy and disgruntled Bollo was slowly beginning to come around. The bad feeling he had had before they'd been.. Well... Gorilla-napped? Shaman-napped? King-of-the-mods-napped?... Whatever it was, he was certain that the anxious tightening in his chest wasn't this severe. Something was also nagging at the back of his mind. A stern, sharp voice that was telling him something was very very wrong. It wasn't like the "bad feeling" voice, Bollo had grown quite fond of that one, it sounded like Hugh Laurie in House - gravelly but cuddly. This voice, the sharp one, wasn't making much of an impact on the gorilla's hazy state until it hissed; "Naboo!"

That got his attention extremely quickly.

The shaman was currently in the exact position he had been left in by Vince. In the same, if not deeper, state of unconsciousness. Bollo reached over and gave Naboo a shake, very gently. He didn't want to rip his arm off or anything. I mean, let's face it, Bollo IS a fully grown gorilla. He grunted softly, realising that the Shaman would have to awaken in his own time, and decided to take in his surroundings.

Vince approached the cage slowly, willing his heart to stop pounding in his chest. Old Gregg had followed him, not once taking his eyes off of the youth. Bollo looked down, slightly startled at first as if only just realised the cage was hanging in midair.

"Can you wake Naboo up?" Asked Vince, swallowing his fear in an attempt to seem normal. He didn't want to freak Bollo out. Scaring a 225 pound gorilla that was locked in a cage with one of your best friends probably wasn't the best idea.

Bollo eyed Vince for a moment, sensing something was wrong (The cuddly yet authoritive House voice had returned.) Shaking his head, he gestured at the shaman lying behind him. "In deep sleep, won't wake until he wants to."

Vince muttered something under his breath, and took a deep breath. He was beginning to reach the end of his tether. Seriously thinking about it, how many people would miss Old Gregg? Besides the psychotic fans of the Mighty Boosh, there really was no one who would mourn the mysterious disappearance of the fishy bastard. Who would really stop him if he just stabbed him with an eyeliner pencil? That was his last resort, he decided. If all else failed.

"Can you do magic, Bollo?" He asked, quietly. Noting that Gregg had gotten very interested in the Bailey's table, and didn't seem to be listening.

Bollo tilted his head and nodded slowly.

"Do you think you know any to get you and Naboo out of there?" Vince stared up at the familiar, his neck beginning to ache along with his head and his stomach.

There was a low sigh, "Bollo not do magic."

The youth gritted his teeth, raising a hand to rub at his temples. "Why not?"

"T'was Chinko."

Oh here we go.

"Chinko always say; 'Please Bollo, let us do magic.' But we always be told not to, as our magic is menial at best. But Chinko always begging. 'Please let us do magic.' And so one day, finally-"

Vince interjected with a soft sigh, "Let me guess.. You chopped his hands off?"

Bollo blinked and looked confused, "No... I turned him into a toad."

There was complete silence in the cavern for a moment, until Vince turned round to find Old Gregg a few inches away from him. Then there was another reference to that rather fantastic show about a grumpy yet brilliant doctor called House. Vince pushed this reference out of the way and turned his attention back to Old Gregg, who was giggling softly under his breath.

"Why are you doing this?" Vince's voice was quiet and defeated. He seriously didn't know what to do, and all of the fight that had been pumping through him earlier had taken a bow and made a quick exit.

The scaly manfish ran a webbed finger along Vince's arm and tilted his head. "Go find Howard." He twitched and looked startled for a second, as if noticing how similar Vince was to him. Same nose, same eyes, same face-shape, same height... It was almost as if they were the same person. He twitched again and grinned widely. "I want Howard!"


	11. Chapter 11

Yes, I know it's short and I know I made you wait a long time for it but right now is the first time when I haven't had a million and one things to do. So nyah. Much love goes to Maria and Hannah for the help and encouragement. Whilst obvious hugs are in order for Corrine, Ivana and Erin who are just awesome and inspiring. 

**Merry Christmas, btw. Since it IS Christmas after all, I thought i'd treat you all with an extract from Hannah's amazing Star Wars story at the end.**

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**Chapter Eleven  
In which Howard Moon does something not very helpful**

Aha you see. Now that right there was the mark of a true writing genius. A proper cliffhanger, forcing you to wait a few months before you find out what had happened. It certainly felt like a few months had passed to Howard, even though it had only been about half an hour since he witnessed the fishy kidnapping of his friends. He'd stood staring, open mouthed at the small lake long after the ripples had ceased to.. Well.. Ripple.

"Oh dear." Was all he stated finally, pulling his phone out. It was times like these that he wished he'd allowed Vince to have one of his own but it usually only took one memory of the amount of phonecalls he got at 3 AM from a giggly slurry person claiming to be a receptionist at the Bureau of Bad Fashion or the Department of Swayze Eyes asking if he can confirm his appointment to remind him why a phoneless Vince is a good thing.

Lester's number was obviously at the top of his phonelist, but a blind and half crazy musician was not what he needed right now, as much as it pained him to admit it. No, Howard Moon needed someone with knowledge about the fishy bastard. Someone who had had previous experience with him. Someone with intelligence, wit and an understanding of strategy and logic.

"Hello, Colin here!"

Howard blinked and brought himself back to reality. "Ah yeah, hi Colin! It's Howard Moon. I stayed at your pub a few months ago..?" He trailed off waiting for the noise of recognition. There was none.

"Who?"

"Howard Moon. I was there with my friend Vince Noir? Got captured by Old Gregg?" He scratched the back of his head and watched the door of the council house nervously.

"Vincey! The little fishprincess! Of course Howard, I remember you! How are you?" The pub wasn't very busy so Colin was leaning against the bar, sipping a Flirtini. There was still a picture of the Boosh lads up above the mantel, dressed in their funky red outfits.

Howard sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I've got a bit of a problem. It's about Old Gregg."

"Ah. Old Gregg. You know some say that Old Gregg has moved on, others say that he's dead. All I know is, we haven't seen him around these parts since... Well... Since you and Vincey were here!" Colin chuckled wheezily, sounding like a man with a serious pipe addiction.

"Well. I've found Old Gregg and he's kidnapped my friends!" Said Howard, anxiously. (Gosh. What a terrible line, I mean really. He just said it in an anxious way. How else could I write it?) "Colin I need to know.. Is there any way of defeating Old Gregg so that I, Howard Moon, can rescue my friends?"

"Ah sure thing Howard. I'll tell you if there's a way of defeating the fishy bastard. Gather round now and listen closely." There was a pause. "Not you photo frame." Another pause and what sounded like muffled grumbling in the background. "Sorry Howard, what was I saying? Oh, is there a way of defeating Old Gregg? The short answer is no."

Howard pinched the bridge of his nose. "What exactly was the long answer?"

"No there is not a way to-"

Colin heard the click as Howard cut him off.

The wind had picked up slightly as Howard turned to Naboo's carpet and rolled it up, tucking it under his arm. He knew what he had to do and he knew that this would undoubtedly involve some pretty nasty confrontations with a certain funky manfish. The man about town took a deep breath and stepped slowly towards the front door of the house, eyeing up the pond warily in case something should emerge from it. He had no intention of diving into the water, instead figuring there was probably a way to Old Gregg's undergound lair (which he probably had, I mean let's face it. It's Old Gregg. The only creative thing he does is water colours.) in the basement.

He took a deep breath as he reached the door, taking one last look at the outside world before turning the handle and stepping inside as conveniently, it wasn't locked.

* * *

**Finally, for your viewing pleasure, I present:**

**Hannah's amazing Star Wars story: The Final Chapter.**

"Then Han Solo said 'i like your4 hair leia, but taht's all i like' and then went and had sex with chewbacca, the end lolz"

**Or alternatively.. Hannah's amazing Star Wars/Doctor Who crossover story: The Final Chapter.  
**  
"LOLZ an then the doctor and the mastor got stuk in the cupboard again and so han solo said onoez i will save yu and so he spoke to obi wan and then it was sorted the end lolzzzzzz."


End file.
